


Alone, Together

by SickSalt



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Adoption, Child Neglect, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hybrid Tommyinnit, I believe in Tommy with devil horns supremacy, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Phil im sorry hopefully I'll actually make another chapter where you're more sympathetic :((, not actually RPF, takes place in the Dream SMP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29987040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SickSalt/pseuds/SickSalt
Summary: Excerpt:Wilbur was the one to drag Tommy out of the wild. He’s been told since that it had been some sight, that first day, Philza’s good kid all roughed up with a tiny boy locked in his arms. Wilbur had walked through town with a smile on his face and scratches on his arms. Tommy had walked through town with his own grin, sharp as a knife, and twigs in his hair. What was a little devil doing out by himself in the trees? Literally feral, he was. He could talk, but not well, and to hear Wilbur tell it, half his vocabulary was insults.Not that how he got to that point really matters. What matters is that Wilbur was the one who found him and claimed him and dragged him, biting and scratching, away from the wild. Right to his father’s doorstep.OR: Tommy's childhood, before the wars.
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 3
Kudos: 80





	Alone, Together

Wilbur was the one to drag Tommy out of the wild. He’s been told since that it had been some sight, that first day, Philza’s  _ good _ kid all roughed up with a tiny boy locked in his arms. Wilbur had walked through town with a smile on his face and scratches on his arms. Tommy had walked through town with his own grin, sharp as a knife, and twigs in his hair. He was blond, not that you’d be able to tell from the dirt caked to every square inch of his tiny body, and feisty, which you very much  _ could _ tell. Tommy doesn’t much remember how Wilbur coaxed him out into the world. He doesn’t much remember what came before it happened, either. What was a little devil doing out by himself in the trees? Literally  _ feral _ , he was. He could talk, but not well, and to hear Wilbur tell it, half his vocabulary was  _ insults _ . 

Not that what came before really matters. What matters is that Wilbur was the one who found him and claimed him and  _ dragged _ him, biting and scratching, away from the wild. Right to his father’s doorstep. 

Phil didn’t say no when Wilbur asked to keep Tommy, of course. Not that Tommy was called  _ Tommy _ yet, or anything at all. No name, no family, no memory of where he came from. Nobody even knew what sort of hybrid he was supposed to be. Little red horns and sharp teeth. That was all they had and all they’d ever get, on that front. Not that Phil cared. He had a soft spot for  _ all _ hybrids, Tommy learned, as he met Technoblade.

Techno didn’t seem to like him very much. Tommy was loud, and he stole Wilbur’s attention, and it seemed like for a very long time everything was put on pause so that they could learn how to  _ tame _ him. Tommy thinks that his arrival is when Technoblade started to hate orphans. 

“Techno,” Tommy would say, and Technoblade would tell him not to call him that. Only  _ Phil _ could call him that. And Wilbur, too. Tommy didn’t let it bother him, and called Technoblade by his full name after. Only because  _ Techno _ sounded far too affectionate for a big jerk like him.

(And when Technoblade realized he wanted to be called Techno, months after Tommy stopped being that annoying orphan and started being  _ his brother, _ well. It was a little too late.)

Phil started leaving on day trips with Technoblade when Tommy was maybe-eight. And then day trips melted into one week, two weeks, a month away from home turned into half a year of adventures in worlds Tommy only knew from stories they would tell when they got back. And then even the stories stopped, and Tommy was forced to make his own stories. Well. He and Wilbur, anyway. 

The first time Phil left for a  _ long _ time, Technoblade in tow, Wilbur turned to Tommy and said they had to be  _ responsible _ now. “Dad trusts us,” he said. And so they went out to the stables every day and fed the animals with untrained hands. Wilbur sat Tommy atop his favorite cow and took pictures with his fancy  _ polaroid camera _ . Tommy helped carry the animal feed while Wilbur dragged a heavy iron water bucket across the dirt for the animals. Every day they did it until Phil came back and told them how well they’d done. And then he’d leave again, and they went back to being  _ responsible _ . 

When he started leaving for months on end, it got a lot harder to be responsible. It wasn’t Wilbur’s fault, or even Tommy’s. They just ran out of feed, which was a problem, and neither of them had any money to buy more. They didn’t have a way of carrying it back to the farm, either. 

In the end, three months after Phil and Techno had left again and three months away from when they were due back (at the  _ earliest) _ , they opened the stables and let the animals out. Whooping as they stormed across the surrounding fields. Harriet the cow was strong, she’d be fine, and the sheep were all vicious little bastards. Tommy sat on the gate and waved bye, shouting at them to visit sometime. 

It wasn’t long after that when they started stealing. 

Nothing too expensive, obviously. Phil had left plenty of food in the pantry and enough money to buy some snacks, but the cash was all gone before they’d even run out of animal feed. In their defense, it was very hard to be responsible when they could use his money to buy Wilbur a newer, fancier polaroid camera. So one day, after staring at the empty pantry for ten minutes, Wilbur dragged Tommy out of bed and told him they were going on an adventure. 

The adventure was a mile-long trek to their neighbor’s apple orchard. 

It was early September the first time, and Tommy hadn’t worn shoes. Wilbur, who was nearly fifteen and therefore more prone to responsible behavior,  _ had _ worn shoes and even brought a backpack to carry the apples in. They walked and talked the whole mile. Tommy made Wilbur laugh so hard he to stop in his tracks,  _ repeatedly, _ and it was so much fun that he hardly noticed the hunger clawing its way through his stomach one missed meal at a time. 

When they reached the wall separating the orchard from the rest of the world, Tommy scrambled over it with no problem. Wilbur, who was nearly fifteen and therefore more prone to responsible behavior, attempted to find a gate. And when that failed, he scrambled over it too. The apples weren’t quite ripe yet but most of them seemed red enough to eat. They picked one tree clean and ate their bounty then and there. They picked another tree clean and filled the backpack to the brim, and went home.

They lived off apples for weeks. And when the apples got boring, they started sneaking through their neighbor’s window to grab little things off the kitchen counter. Loaves of bread, cheese, butter. Snacks and things to tide them over. Enough to live through a month of winter and just barely enough to tide them over until Phil came home, Techno by his side. 

He wasn’t angry about the animals being gone. Of  _ course _ they’d just up and let them go, he honestly felt silly for expecting anything else. He also wasn’t angry about the suspicious amount of apple cores littering the kitchen, or the empty food dishes that clearly weren’t theirs. They told the story of their theft — Wilbur quiet and Tommy absolutely unashamed — and he  _ laughed _ . Wilbur was fifteen and Tommy nearly in his double-digits. This was what boys their age  _ did _ . His sons were thieves, skinnier than he left them and twice as wild, and he simply didn’t really care. 

They didn’t tell him about the week before he’d come home when the snow outside had piled high enough to bury Tommy up to his waist. How they’d been living off storage already — too cold to make the mile walk to their neighbor’s, and besides, the apples weren’t growing anymore anyway — and were nearly starved by the time Phil walked in. Wilbur didn’t say how he’d shoved his food at Tommy and it still wasn’t enough to keep him fed, keep him healthy. 

They didn’t tell him about the first time Tommy tried to visit the cows after releasing them and fully realized that he’d never be able to climb onto Harriet’s back again. He cried for the first time in months that day. 

Or— or maybe they did, maybe they told him every little detail, and Phil never cared. It doesn’t sound quite right but Tommy’s never had a very good memory. 

Phil left again once winter thawed, leaving a fully-stocked pantry, and they got to start the process all over again. Again, and again. 

Tommy was twelve when they left for the last time, Wilbur barely a teenager anymore. They’d gone further in their adventures. Terrorized the village (that’s when Tommy was told, the first time, about that day he was dragged from the woods) and stole from other, more far-away neighbors. Caused as much trouble as they wanted, because Phil certainly wasn’t going to do anything about it. 

Wilbur had been talking about leaving for good for months. “When Phil comes home again,” He said, “Either he’s going to make or change or we will.” Wilbur was always very revolutionary like that. Always black and white, do or die sort of mentality. Where there’s a will there’s a way, and where there’s a  _ Wil _ there’s a way. He  _ made _ one. 

Phil did come home, Technoblade with him.  _ Hulking _ over everyone like he always did. And Wilbur gave him an  _ ultimatum _ — that’s the word he used — his adventures or his family. Wilbur stood taller than his father and yelled and yelled and yelled, and Phil yelled back. “You’re being selfish,” he snapped, and Wilbur  _ lost his fucking mind. _

Tommy sat on the steps outside, Technoblade beside him and silence between. Neither of them knew very much about the other, except that neither of them liked the conversation happening inside. They’d come out here in wordless agreement. Tommy first, the moment Wilbur started yelling louder than he’d ever heard him yell before. Moving in wild, grand gestures. Saying words like neglect and carelessness, stripping the layers of childhood fun from their years living off stolen scraps. 

Technoblade left five minutes later, once Phil had started yelling back. 

Shockingly, it was him who broke the silence. He asked, “Are you goin’ with Wilbur?” because they both knew it wasn’t a question of if  _ Wilbur _ would be going. 

Tommy replied, “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Phil,” Technoblade said. It was a strange enough answer for Tommy’s mouth to click shut in surprise. Phil? Tommy’s most consistent memory of Phil was his absence. An empty rocking chair by the fire. Trinkets and trophies left unexplained around the house, collecting dust. The word “Dad”, unsaid and unused. 

“I barely know the man,” Tommy replied, and it wasn’t even bitter. And that was the end of that. 

Wilbur left before Phil did, Tommy in tow. Phil and Technoblade watched. It was their turn, finally, to be left all alone in that awful house. Phil caught Tommy’s sleeve on the way out, said something about how he didn’t have to go if he didn’t want to, Wilbur couldn’t force him to. Tommy replied that if he did stay, he’d just be alone in the house for most of the year, anyway. 

And Phil didn’t say anything more after that. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully there will be a part two to this. Hopefully. It works as a stand-alone too, so like, don't get your hopes up, BUT. I have already begun writing the maybe second chapter and I want desperately to put Phil's perspective of all of this in here so, yeah. <333


End file.
